by Linda Howard
Best of all, the rough corral had a section with a roof over the feed troughs, so the horses had a bit of shelter. If the wind got up, she’d cut some pine branches to brace against the corral as a wind break. She believed in taking care of her horses, because their lives could well depend on the animals.
As far as she was concerned, this camp pretty much had everything except television and cell phone service. If Davis was as experienced as he’d said he was, wouldn’t he have known what to expect, or at least had a general idea?
“Which tent is mine?” he demanded, his voice tight.
Without hesitation, Angie pointed to the one on the far left. She’d take the one farthest to the right; she wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. Granted, it wasn’t much, because the tents were separated by only about ten feet, but every little bit counted.
Davis left his horse standing and disappeared into the tent.
She stared after him, her mouth falling open at the absolute boorishness of the man.
“I’m so sorry,” Chad whispered, actually wringing his hands.
She shook herself, and squared her shoulders. “His manners aren’t your fault,” she said, reaching for the reins of the dark bay before he could take it into his head to wander off.
Chad helped her get the horses unsaddled and watered, and the supplies put away in her tent. She wouldn’t have much room to move around, but that didn’t matter; she wouldn’t be in the tent much anyway, and this way everything was at hand, plus no prowling predator could get into their supply and destroy everything, at least not without alerting her. She not only kept her rifle at hand, but she also had a pistol, and she slept with it.
As she’d expected, Chad was moving a little gingerly, but he didn’t complain. Soon enough they had all the chores done, though the work would have gone faster if Davis had stirred himself to help. She noticed Chad kept darting little anxious glances at the tent, and finally he said hesitantly, “Should I … I mean, were you planning to do any hunting today?”
“It’s wasted time if we don’t at least scout around,” she pointed out. “I know where I found bear sign before, and we need to see if there’s any fresh sign.” Taking a bear wasn’t an easy proposition; Montana didn’t allow hunters to put out bait for bears or use scent to pull them in. They had to find the bear, if possible call one in using a bear call, and their hunting time was limited from half an hour before sunrise to half an hour after sunset.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll call Mitchell,” Chad said, squaring his shoulders, and went off to Davis’s tent.
Angie got out her hunter orange vest and put it on, checked her two cans of bear spray to make certain she could get to them without having to move anything out of the way. She loaded her rifle, put an extra box of ammo in one of the vest pockets. She had her binoculars, her bear call, a bottle of water, and while she was waiting for Chad to come back out of Davis’s tent she hastily ate a protein bar, chasing it with water. The biscuit she’d eaten for breakfast had long since worn off and she was starving.
Chad came back out of the tent, his face the dark red that had become so familiar on the ride into the mountains. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “He, um, he said when you found the bear he’d come along. Until then, he isn’t interested.”
Now was a very good time to begin meditating. Angie held her breath for a few seconds, then let it out slowly. Again. There, that was better. Maybe there really was something to this breathing stuff. She didn’t think she had any huge anger issues—other than where Dare Callahan was concerned, then all bets were off—but she supposed she had her moments. Everyone had a breaking point, and she was well past hers where Davis was concerned.
Most of the time she loved her job. Almost all of her clients were perfectly nice people who enjoyed the outdoors, who loved a challenge, who simply liked to hunt. When they weren’t hunting they were telling stories, talking, joking, laughing. They came up here to relax, to have a good time.
This week wasn’t going to be like that. She’d never refunded a fee and walked away in her professional life, and she wouldn’t this time either because she needed the money, but oh, boy, she wanted to. Whether or not she and Dare agreed on a deal they could both live with, she had bills to pay, so she’d stick.
It hit her that this might very well be her last job as a hunting guide—here, anyway. She didn’t have anything else scheduled, and the odds were that come spring she’d be living in a new place, getting accustomed to a new job and new neighbors. Maybe she didn’t have any choice, but damn it, she didn’t want to go out like this, annoyed and stressed to the max.
But it looked as if that was what she was going to get. Maybe this was a sign that she was doing the right thing, selling out and moving on.
“He’s an ass,” she muttered, then realized she’d said that aloud and looked at Chad with an appalled expression. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I apologize. I should never have said that.”
Chad mopped his shiny face, then gave her a shy smile. “Yeah, I know,” he said, keeping his tone low. Then he gave a helpless shrug, as if to say, What can you do?
She should have known, should have expected it when Davis had left her to take care of all the horses, not even tending to the bay he’d been riding. He was a decent horseman, she’d give him that, which made it even more incomprehensible that he hadn’t offered to take care of the animal that had hauled his ass up here. His personality would be vastly improved if he were more like the horse he’d ridden: silent, and gelded. Come to think of it, that would apply to a certain other man she could think of, though it totally pissed her off that she couldn’t put him completely out of her mind.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Chad said, darting an anxious look at the closed tent on the far end. “I know he likes to hunt, he talks about it all the time. I really enjoyed going out with you last time, and I thought, well, I had no idea he’d be …” He let his sentence trail off, evidently not wanting to call his client a bastard.
“Not your fault, Chad,” Angie said honestly. She smiled at him, trying to ease his discomfort. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and both of you will bag a bear tomorrow. I don’t think anyone would mind if this trip ends early.”
Chad shrugged. “If he gets a bear, I’ll be happy to call the hunt done. I mean, I have my permit for a bear, but I’m really not much of a hunter. I just don’t get into it.”
That was kind of sad, that he forced himself to go on this kind of a trip with a man who seemed bent on making everyone around him miserable.
“Then why don’t you take it easy the rest of the day,” she said, thinking of his sore muscles, “while I see what I can find.”
A relieved expression chased across his face before he blinked and said, “But isn’t that dangerous, going out on your own?”
“Dangerous enough, but I’m armed, and I have the bear spray.” She thought about saddling up the roan and riding it, but the idea was to not spook any nearby bear. Besides, she wasn’t going that far, and the horses needed a rest. The trail was rough and mostly uphill, and the brush was thick where she needed to go. She felt her stomach draw up tight at the idea of going in alone, but she’d done it before when she scouted up here. All she wanted was to find some fresh bear scat, then she’d quietly and quickly retreat, and tomorrow they’d go hunting.
Breathe.
Dare thought about calling Harlan so Harlan could remind him again why this was such a good idea. What else was the satellite phone good for if he couldn’t call an old friend who’d convinced him to act like a stupid idiot, so he could reinforce the idea?
Fishing. He wanted to fish. That was definitely a good idea. Angie wouldn’t need any help from him, or accept it even if she did, but he could use some down time. Fishing was just the ticket.
Even though guiding hunters and fishermen was his job and he spent a lot of time in the mountains, he still loved it here. The solitude, the rough landscape, the smell of the mountain—they never got
old. When he’d been a hell-raising teenager he’d spent a lot of time up here on his own, but now he was a damn adult, responsible, a small-business owner, and he’d been too damn busy to enjoy life. He’d make trips up this way to resupply, or take care of repairs, but coming alone to fish? No. There was always too much to do, and taking a little vacation of his own was so far down on his list that he didn’t even know it was there. Maybe he was way past due for this kind of break.
The fact that Angie was also on the mountain with the men who gave Harlan the willies … that was a coincidence. Nothing more.
Yeah, right. After dismounting, Dare turned so he faced the direction of the camp Angie had leased for the week. He had a great sense of direction and he knew this mountain better than anyone, so he mentally placed the camp almost immediately. If not for the mountains, trees, and the distance, he’d be looking right at Angie and her hunting party. He’d been there a time or two himself, knew how far it was from his camp, which paths led to that camp. It wasn’t the best, nor was it the worst. What it was, was acceptable.
Harlan had written down the names of the men Angie was with, and he’d said he’d do a search on the computer to see if he could find anything suspicious, then call Dare on the sat phone if he did. Dare doubted anything would turn up, but Harlan would feel better if he was doing something productive.
Angie’s truck and trailer, and an unknown SUV, had already been at Ray Lattimore’s place when Dare had pulled in with his own horse trailer. Ray, in his early seventies but as tough as old jerky, had come out to talk a bit. “Angie Powell went up early this morning,” he said, nodding toward her truck. “Two clients with her. One’s useless, the other’s an asshole.”
Dare grunted. “That so?”
Ray had more of his opinions to share, and did so at length. By the time he was finished, Dare was an hour later than he’d planned on being, but what the hell, this was a vacation. He wasn’t punching a damn time clock.
Because this wasn’t a guided hunt, he’d decided to use the trip to do some training on a new horse he’d bought, a three-year-old buckskin that showed promise of being a great trail horse. The youngster was full of piss and vinegar and Dare had to stay on his toes, ready for anything, but he enjoyed the challenge. When they arrived at his camp safe and sound, overall he was pleased. He wouldn’t put a client on the horse just yet, though; the buckskin needed a lot more experience and settling down. This was his first time in the mountains, and some of the less-secure footing made him nervous.
Dare unpacked and settled in with the ease and automatic mindlessness of a man who’d done it a thousand times. There was comfort in the routine, almost a sense of coming home. He saw to the buckskin first, then unpacked his fishing gear and supplies for the week. This was the first time he’d ever had this place to himself, and it felt odd to bring in one air mattress, one sleeping bag. Normally the quarters felt cramped, but with just himself and one horse, damned if everything didn’t feel roomy. He should do this more often.
This was his camp, not a lease, and Dare had designed and built it himself, with safety from predators his foremost consideration. The building was small and rough-looking, blending into the background so well it was almost invisible from any distance, but it was two stories tall and a hell of a lot sturdier than any tent—sturdier than most hunting cabins, come to that, and definitely what he considered a better design for bear country.
The bottom of the building was horse stalls, while the top was a sleeping platform, partitioned into small areas with curtains that could be pulled over the openings for privacy, but the platform itself was open to the stalls below, with a ladder that could be pulled up. The heat from the horses’ bodies rose, effectively heating the sleeping platform so during cold weather it was almost comfortable. During hot weather, the small windows in the upper section could be opened. The clients on the sleeping platform were always safe from predators of any kind, and they had a clear shot into the lower level in case a bear actually tried to claw through the heavy double door below. From the higher position, Dare knew he could take out any predator before it got near the horses.
He’d never had a bear try to get to his horses, but in the mountains it paid to be prepared for anything and everything.
Dare was nothing if not prepared.
Tomorrow morning would be soon enough to head to the stream he had in mind for a little fly-fishing. The trail to that stream would take him close by Angie’s camp, but so what? It was a free country. If she saw him, she’d just have to deal.
But it wouldn’t hurt to let those two guys she was with know there was someone nearby, someone who knew Angie, and who was also armed. Dare didn’t mind doing the menacing act, because for the most part it wasn’t an act. He’d lived through too much, done too much; menacing came natural to him.
Chapter Nine
Angie eased forward, ears straining for any snuffling noises, any sounds of twigs being broken. She tried to keep the wind in her face, because bears stank to high heaven, and her nose might pick up something before her ears did. On the other hand, she kept constant watch behind her, because a bear’s sense of smell was a jillion times sharper than hers and one could easily be downwind of her. Just the thought of turning around and seeing a bear behind her made her heart squeeze in terror.
Out here by herself, there was no hiding from or disguising the fact that she wasn’t just uneasy about hunting bear, she was downright afraid of them. The only thing that gave her the confidence to be out here looking for bear scat was the rifle in her hand, loaded with heavy-duty ammunition. But a big bear could keep coming another forty, fifty feet or more after taking a fatal hit, and if the shot was off by a little the animal could do a tremendous amount of damage before going down.
When she’d come up here to scout out the territory, she’d been terrified every minute, even though she’d done everything she could to mitigate the danger. She’d made her clothes as scent-free as possible, but that was standard. The last thing she wanted was for a big blackie to catch her scent and either vanish from the area or, worse, think dinner! and start stalking her. The absolute worst thing that could happen would be that in the heavy brush she’d stumble too close to a sow grizzly and her cub, or cubs, and be on them before she knew it. If there was a more ferocious animal on earth than that, her imagination wouldn’t stretch far enough to envision it. A female grizzly protecting her cubs was a buzz saw of destruction; even male grizzlies would give her a wide berth.
Damn Mitchell Davis. Why couldn’t he want an elk, or a bighorn sheep, or a moose? Moose were dangerous, but she wasn’t terrified of them. Bear … the very first nightmare she could remember having, when she was five or six years old, had featured a bear. She had no idea what had triggered the nightmare, but it had been so vivid, and in technicolor, that to this day she remembered almost every detail. She’d been running, and a black bear had been after her. Various people had tried to help and the bear had killed them all, and kept coming. She’d awakened, whimpering, before it reached her and she remembered lying curled up in bed, shaking in terror, with the cover pulled over her head until morning came.
Viewed in that light, becoming a hunting guide wasn’t the smartest move she’d ever made. This was bear territory; every guide trip she made, even if it was a photography expedition, brought her into their backyard. She didn’t have a phobia about bears, exactly, but she was definitely afraid, which she hoped meant she was less likely to have a close encounter of the bad kind because she was extra cautious.
Bears weren’t the only big predators around; there were cougars, too. Strange that she wasn’t as afraid of them as she was a bear, because she wouldn’t want to come face-to-face with a cougar, either, but she supposed she was allowed her points of illogic. She waited for five minutes, listening hard and hearing nothing more than very small rustles—no grunts, no coughs, no sounds of branches being snapped or logs rolled out of the way—before she ventured closer to the game trail she’d l
ocated.
There was the tree with the claw marks, the thicket of chokeberry bushes where the black fur had been snagged. She mentally mapped out a grid and walked it, taking her time, carefully examining the ground as well as constantly checking her surroundings. The silver ribbon of creek below helped her keep her bearings, so she always knew exactly where she was in relation to the camp. The ground sloped away to the right of her, punctuated by groups of boulders, stands of trees. Something metallic caught her eye, over by some of the rocks, but bear scat wasn’t metallic; probably someone had left some trash, which ticked her off. She’d pick it up on her way back to the camp.
No scat. She moved upward another hundred yards, but though she found some scat it wasn’t as fresh as what she’d found a few days before. Reversing directions, she began working down toward the creek. Water was a lodestone. Eventually, every creature in the mountains needed water.
When she reached the steep drop-away where she’d seen the glint of metal, she left the game trail and carefully worked her way over to it. A careless step could mean a sprained ankle, or, God forbid, a broken leg or a concussion, and she didn’t trust either Chad Krugman or Mitchell Davis to help her. She’d told Chad in detail where she was going, but as inept as he was in the wilderness she didn’t have a lot of faith he could find her. Davis had still been in his tent when she left, so he didn’t have any idea where she’d gone. If anything happened, she’d have to depend on herself; there was no one else.
A camera. The metallic glint came from a microdigital camera. She leaned down and picked it up. It was scuffed up, dirty, and probably wouldn’t work after being left out in the open. She examined it, saw that the switch had been left in the “on” position. When she flicked the switch again, the little screen lit up. Out of curiosity she hit “playback” and scrolled through some shots of the scenery. There were a hundred fifty-three pictures, but after viewing a few of them she turned the camera off. She’d look at the rest later, though she doubted there’d be any way of telling who the camera belonged to. It must have fallen out of the photographer’s pocket, who knows how many days ago.